Memories
My oldest memory is of my mother. I do not cherish it.
She was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way. It was the way that she entranced my father. He was in love with her power, and he believed he could change her for the better. When she left him, she left a shell of a bitter, empty man who devoted himself entirely to his god and not to me.
Never to me.
Father takes precedence in my next memories. He was a cold, callous man, with short, stubby fingers and a temperament to match them. I was only four years old when he burned the mark of his god into me, thinking foolishly that it could save me. I would not be saved. Instead, it would cause pain and grief and sorrow, and it would be one of the things to lead to me leaving him for a life that I hoped would be better.
It was not better, but it was more.
Acid seared my skin, because fire would not do the trick. I liked fire. Fire was as warm and comforting as the mother’s embrace that I had never experienced. The symbol of the accursed Helm stands shamelessly on my hip, and shall for all eternity, because I can do nothing to be rid of it.
I will never forget that pain.
As soon as I was old enough to run, I did. I was thirteen at the time, but I had stolen money from my father, little bits at a time, for years before. With pouches I had purchased to keep my supplies in, I ran, as far and as fast as I possibly could. I changed my name, and I changed myself.
The days blurred together, but everything I did only made me stronger. I had a companion for a short time. I do not remember his name. He was an old man, and he was the first to call me by my chosen name. Though I do not remember his, I was glad that he knew mine.
He died in front of me. I left him where he laid, and moved on.
Trust found me in a haystack, a little more than a year after I had left my childhood home far behind. She curled up against my warm skin, and when I left, she stayed with me. Eventually, we became companions. She has been the only creature I have ever been able to give my trust to, hence her fitting name.
The city of Granthius was new and exciting, though I did not expect anyone to be excited by me. I was correct. I was greeted with stares and whispers, and in the more unfortunate circumstances, the same vitriol that I had received at my father’s hands. I was only there a short time before I heard of the agency, the place that claimed they could find jobs for anyone, regardless of race.
If I were to make something of myself, something more, Gearbox Staffing was going to be my ticket to it.